


Jealousy

by HandsomeManExpress (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, overly descriptive metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/HandsomeManExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cass is mostly pretty easy-going. But he is sometimes, unexpectedly, jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

 “Why do we need another tag partner?”

“Match stip, Cass. Boss says we need a three-man team, and ‘Mella’s mad at me again, she won’t do it. And Itami’s already got the match right after ours.”

“I don’t like it.” Cass is scowling, he’s _pouting._ “We got a good thing going here, we got a good rhythm, why stick somethin’ in the middle of it? We can do it with just us.”

“What, are you _jealous?_ ” Enzo flops bonelessly across his lap, hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s just one match.” He glances across the cafeteria. “What about that Corbin guy? He could work. Guy looks like he eats glass and shits windows, if you know what I’m saying.”

Cass stares down at him for a moment, forehead wrinkling. “I _don’t_ think I know what you’re saying.”

“I mean—”

“No, look, first off, who’s got an asshole shaped like that, you’d haveta have some kinda square asshole to crap out a window. Plus does it have panes or what, is it a fuckin’ car window, what kinda window is this supposed to be? Second of all, why’re you lookin’ at Corbin’s ass?”

“I’m _not_ lookin’ at Corbin’s ass, _you’re_ the one going on about his asshole, I’m just sayin’ I think I could work with him.”

“Doesn’t mean _I_ could—wait.” Cass peers across the cafeteria at where Corbin is eating alone, absorbed in some novel with a lot of red on the cover. “Do you _like_ him?”

“What? No.”

“He’s real tall, though.”

“Yeah, so’s a lotta people, doesn’t mean I like them or nothin’. I like you, you’re my tall guy.”

“But what if he’s taller than me, what if you like him better.” Cass looks really worried now. “This match’s just a front, ain’t it, you wanna replace me, you don’t like me anymore.”

“You got three inches on him, dumbass, he ain’t taller than you. And I like you fine.” Enzo looks sidelong at the rest of the cafeteria and confirms that he’s concealed by the table. Then he wiggles over closer to Cass and leans in, pressing his face against the strip of exposed skin where Cass’ shirt pulls away from his jeans. He says, against Cass’ side, “Not goin’ anywhere, you jackass, I love you.”

Cass flushes bright red and mutters, “Love you too. But I still don’t like it.”

* * *

 

They’re at the gym, and Enzo’s doing military presses with Cass spotting him, and he starts to sing to himself, quietly. It’s some song Cass only half-recognizes, something rhythmic, and mostly he can’t tell what he’s saying until it gets to “this dude named Michael, used to ride motorcycles,” and then he goes very still.

Enzo stops singing after a moment. “Cass? You spacin’ out on me?”

“What dude named Michael?”

“How the fuck should I know, Cass, it’s in the song.”

“Yeah, but are we talking Michael from Syracuse here? Carmella’s cousin’s ex, the one with the vintage Indian? Why’re you singing about his dick? Because you did kinda have the hots for that bike.”

Enzo puts down his weight bar and looks up at Cass. “Cass, are you trying to suggest that I fucked Michael O’Connor for a bike?”

“All I’m sayin’ is, you said you’d do anything for a bike like that and now you’re singin’ about his dick.” Cass rests his elbows on Enzo’s shoulders so that they can make eye contact easily.

“I am _not_ singin’ about his dick, it’s a Nicki Minaj song, not my fault she’s talking about some other Michael’s dick. Besides, that guy had a Prince Albert the size of a fuckin’ golf ball, I don’t even know _how_ that’d work.”

Cass’ brow furrowed. “Well, how’d you know about the thingy if you _didn’t_ fuck him?”

“Carmella was gonna. But then they had a fight and she kicked him out but she wouldn’t give him his clothes back, so I kinda got an eyeful.” Enzo rolls his eyes. “All I wanted was my copy’a _Pulp Fiction_ back.”

“But you didn’t sleep with him.”

“No, I didn’t sleep with him, what the hell kinda question is that?”

* * *

 

They’re in bed, Cass is sitting up with his hands bound behind him and he’s red-faced and breathless and Enzo kneels over his lap and tips his face up and says, “What’s gotten into you lately?”

Cass blinks. “It’s kinda the other way round, ‘Zo, ain’t that the point of this position?”

Enzo groans. “Don’t avoid the question. You’ve been freakin’ out a lot lately. I do something to make you think I’d fuck around on you?”

“Well, you’re always hittin’ on Carmella and you look at guys a lot, I thought you might not like me no more.”

“Hey. Hey, no. Yeah, I look, I look a ton. But ain’t nobody out there half as good as you.” Enzo kisses him hard, clings to Cass’ shoulders and settles down with a soft groan. “You’re my guy.”

“Promise?”

Enzo slides his arms around Cass’ waist so he can thread their fingers together behind Cass’ back. “I promise.”

“Because you did blow Triple H that one time.”

“Yeah, but you helped me, so I kinda don’t think that counts.”


End file.
